The Secret of Tasty Treats
by Lady.Artemis.Isis.13
Summary: HALLOWEEN REUPLOAD: From house to house do children go, and goodies have a secret they'll never know. / 2P!England-centered.


**DISCLAIMER: Hetalia is the rightful property of Hidekaz Himaruya.**

 **ORIGINAL DATE: November 2, 2015**

 **SYNOPSIS: From house to house do children go, and goodies have a secret they'll never know** **.**

 **FEATURED CHARACTERS: 2P! England, 2P! America**

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: Due to my original account being closed (see main profile for more details), I have elected to re-upload this story on my new account.**

 **~o~**

 **2P! ENGLAND & 2P! AMERICA**

 **The Secret of Tasty Treats**

 **~o~**

"Let's see… flour… check! Eggs… check! Butter… now where I put the—ah! There it is!"

The cheerful nation lifted the box away from its tipping point towards the sink and cheerfully plopped it down next the vanilla essence on the gleaming counter next to the other ingredients. It was always good to cook in a clean kitchen, but at this rate, the kitchen would be the cleanest place in his house from the number of times he had scrubbed the dried dough away.

 _Ding!_

The timer bell rang off and with a cheeky smile, England hurried over to the oven, slipped on his favorite mittens, and retrieved the hot, sweet chocolate chip muffins with his usual enthusiasm. He took a deep breath and sighed contently, his bright cerulean blue eyes bright with enough pride that their pink swirls almost glowed.

"Perfect!" he simmered, placing the muffins on the counter and removing his mittens. "Now let's see." He rubbed his hands together and hovered them over the muffins. " _Raffreddare!_ "

Wisps of steam rose from the muffin tin and dissipated into the air so that when he picked it up once more, the tin was cool to the touch while the muffins remained hot enough to melt in your mouth.

"There we go." He rested the muffin tin down next to the seven trays of cookies, and the lavender-colored iced chocolate cake. Two shadows loomed over his shoulders, and he turned to chuckle at the two faeries and Flying Chocolate Bunny eyeing the goodies greedily.

"Now, now, you know the rules!" He tickled Flying Chocolate Bunny under his belly, so that the little creature squirmed, glaring and giggling at the same time. "No touching until America gets here! I ran out of my special ingredient and he's supposed to bring me some more."

"But we're hungry!" the little faeries complained cutely, but England never wavered. Instead, he chose to roll up his pink sleeves, straightened his bowtie, and ran a hand through his messy strawberry-blond hair.

He set the mixing bowl on the counter and got to work on making a new round of batter for cupcakes. As he cracked the eggs, he started to sing ' _You are my sunshine_ ' while he worked.

"… _sunshine_ ," He added the sugar. " _My only sunshine_." He added the milk. " _You make me happy_." He stirred the bowl. " _When skies are gray. You'll never know dear, how much I love you_." He stopped stirred and added the vanilla essence. " _So please don't take my sunshine away_."

His pale hands were splattered with fresh batter that escaped from the bowl with every stir of his wooden spoon. Some batter flecks graced his neat, purple waistcoat and he wrinkled his nose distastefully. No matter how hard he tried, he always got his clothes messy when he made his pastries.

"England! It's six o'clock!" Flying Chocolate Bunny complained as he circled England's head like a hyper halo of hunger. "I want a biscuit!"

He continued to repeat this, giving a cute baby face to the nation. England raised an eyebrow. "You know, I'm running low on _chocolate_ for the icing."

Flying Chocolate Bunny stopped complaining immediately. His two faery companions almost fell from the ceiling to the ground from laughter.

England got around to making the buttercream icing for the cupcakes, before sorting them into different bowls. He had just gotten around to adding the coloring to the buttercream icing when a hard banging on the back porch patio broke through his concentration.

"Old man!" America called out. "Open up!"

England huffed as he hurried to answer the down, pouting at the younger nation with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not that old!" he said, the hint of a lecture dancing around his lips. "You're late."

It took a second for England to appraise his former charge. He wasn't surprised by what he saw.

America's auburn hair stuck up in all directions, when splatters of blood decorating his messy locks and sunglasses, and all down the left side of his face. There was a faint bruise under his right eye, nearly healed, and his burgundy eyes glowed with adrenaline. Blood coated the corners of his mouth. His white shirt, Bomber jacket, denim jeans and nail-filled baseball bat strapped to his side were all ripped and bloodied.

He looked as though he had gone through hell and back—and had the time of his life doing so.

America didn't blink. "Is that the thanks I get for dragging my hot ass all the way over here?"

England's eyes narrowed. "Swear jar!" he exclaimed, swatting America's head before retreating into the house. "Well, come along, young man!"

America rolled his eyes and picked up his carpet-covered 'parcel' from the ground.

"You can set it over here," England said, clearing away the dining table. "And help yourself to whatever you want."

"Yeah, whatever." America rolled his eyes again and dumped the carpet roll on the table before dragging a chair unceremoniously towards the counter, enjoying the look of annoyance that graced England's face at the screeching sound.

"Please refrain from doing that, and the jar is over there," England said, sniffling, before returning to coloring his buttercream icing.

"I'm not putting any more of my money in that damn swear jar—OW!" He glared at England, who had swatted him over the head with a rolling pin. "Goddammit, old ma—Alright, alright!" He lifted his bat defensively as England threatened him with a butcher knife. "Geez!"

Unaware of the faeries laughing maniacally over his head, America dragged himself in the general direction of the damn swear jar. England shook his head and finished mixing the colors before hurrying over to the dining table.

"So, let's see what you got for me." He eyed the long item before snapping his fingers together. " _Levitare!_ "

The long object floated up into the air so that England could pull the carpet covering to reveal America's delivery. England folded his arms and examined the dead body floating in front of him. Around his neck was turning blue—America must have strangled him to death, England thought to himself—but other than the injuries to his body, he was relatively intact.

He was also young, somewhere in his twenties, with dark brown hair and wide grey eyes, which stared up unknowingly at the ceiling. England checked his temperature. He was still warm, killed only recently.

"Not bad. He'll do," England said. "Nationality?"

America returned to his seat with two muffins in his hands, munching away. "Ah… French, I think, from his accent," he said messily, crumbs dripping from his lips and freckling his chin. "Don't know how that's supposed to make a difference."

"Don't speak with your mouth full!" England removed the levitation spell from the dead body and collected a knife from one of the drawers. Returning to the body, the slit the knife over his wrist and tasted the blood on the edge of the blade.

His eyes brightened. "AB positive! And it's not even Christmas!"

America ignored him and finished off his muffins. "Like I knew that! I only found him a block from here." he scoffed. "The guy was being an as—" He caught the glare on England's face and the way he gripped the knife in his hand. "aaah—a _jerk_ ," he corrected himself with a mocking tone, "So he got what was coming to 'im!"

"Well, then, I better get back to work. And you all can have a few biscuits, but not too many," England added to the faeries and Flying Chocolate Bunny, who immediately hurried to the table with the goodies. America gave him an odd look as he took his equipment to the body.

"Who ya talking to, Old man?" he asked, but England didn't bother answering.

England removed blood from the dead man's body, glad that he wasn't close to rigor mortis, and hurried back to his cupcake batter.

"I can't believe I let my stock run out so soon," England muttered. "The A positive and B negative are all done, and I'm saving the O negative for the next cake. What's chocolate cake without O negative? _Outrageous_ , if you ask me."

Humming to himself, he poured some of the blood into the batter and started to mix them together.

" _You are my sunshine._ _My only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray_ ," he sang cheerfully to himself as he stirred the bowl.

America scowled at England. While he hated that song, Canada never complained when England sang it.

The doorbell rang and England glanced up, his cerulean blue-pink swirling eyes gleaming mischievously. "Ah, that would be the trick-or-treaters," he said to America. "Do go and hand out the sweets for me. And take the B negative biscuits out first."

America groaned. "Why? You know I hate little brats."

England sighed. "Yes, but they'll be so disappointed if you don't," he said, pouting enough to get America to cave. England didn't understand why, but all he had to do was pout and America would do anything for him.

"Don't worry, you won't have to be here long," England added. "Canada's coming to keep me company for the rest of the day. Apparently, France is driving him insane."

England was too busy stirring the batter to catch the flash of bitter resentment in America's eyes at the sound of the other nation's name. He didn't voice it, but he was sure that England preferred his brother to himself. Grumbling to himself, he got up and walked over to the table, where biscuits and chocolates were wrapping themselves.

He stared at them.

And the faeries wrapping the goodies only laughed devilishly in response.

"A couple hundred years and I still don't get it," he muttered to himself as he picked up the bowl with already wrapped goodies. He turned to walk out the door when England grabbed his arm.

"You can't go out there looking like that!" England exclaimed, eyeing his appearance offensively. "Go wash up."

"Why? I'm going as a murderer!" America said, grinning to show off his blood stained teeth. "Those little brats don't have to know it's real blood! Geez, Old man. Get back to your baking and fu—" A dangerous gleam shot through England's eyes. "Back off."

England tutted and reached up to wipe away the crumbles on the younger nation's head, ignoring his stutters of outrage.

"What the hell, Old man? OW! Goddammit, stop that! Fuck off!"

After a short, constant string of swears and lots of whacks from the rolling pin and fresh cuts from the butcher knife, America scowled as he carried the bowl of goodies to the front door, grumbling about losing fifty bucks to an old man.

Not caring if he came off menacing or not, he opened the door and showed off his bloody grin to the eager children, who only had eyes for the bowl in his hands.

"Trick or treat little guys!" America's eyes gleamed darkly as the children dug their greedy hands into the bowl of wrapped cookies and chocolates, unknowing of a special ingredient that made them more delicious than customary. "Help yourselves. We've got plenty for everyone."

 **~o~**

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Due to the closing of my previous account, all my posted stories were no longer available for reading. To my readers, both new and old (possibly), I apologize for the inconvenience. I hope you continue to enjoy this story.**

 **ORIGINAL AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

 **This is the first story that I've written for Hetalia. The idea for it was inspired by an episode I saw on "Grimm", where the Hexenbiest was making cookies. I never considered writing anything for Halloween, so this inspiration came really late.**

 **Well, I've never gone trick-or-treating before. I once heard a myth that people put pins and razors in candies to give to children. Thinking about that reminds me of an episode of Supernatural.**

 **Anyway, that's that. I've always imagined England putting blood in his cooking. And somehow they taste better than 1P! England's cooking. As long as he doesn't go Sweeny Todd on meat pies, I'll be okay.**

 **I hope.**

 **~o~**

 ** _Ciao for now,_**

 **Lady.** **Artemis** **.** **Isis** **.** **13**


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